Somewhere Across Forever
by What She Doesn't Know
Summary: In this fairytale, there is no once upon a time.  There is no happily ever after.  The prince isn't supposed to die and leave his princess to fight the dragons alone. .:Oneshot, Finnick/Annie.


**I.**

Blue-green waves crash onto the beach, water reaching up towards them, edged in white foam. This isn't exactly the most comfortable position, leaning back against the rocks, but if he moves, he'll wake her, and she just looks so beautiful and innocent and… and _sane _that he can't bring himself to. No nightmares to trouble her, not here, not now. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that she's not crazy and he's not… whatever the hell he is and that they're just two normal people, sitting on the beach, stupidly in love with each other.

He loves her. And it's because he loves her that he doesn't fight against President Snow, that he doesn't object to what he knows he has to do. If he goes against the President's wishes, he'll kill Annie. That poor mad girl, that Annie Cresta, she's the final ace in Snow's hand. As long as Finnick loves Annie- and he will continue to love Annie until one of them is dead- he can't do a damn thing against the Capitol. He knows it, and Snow knows it, and Finnick is trapped.

But this moment with Annie is so picture perfect, so fairytale _happily ever after,_ that he just smiles down at the sleeping girl and pretends that everything is okay.

**II.**

He's survived the Games, but he doesn't know what _fear _really is until he sees Annie standing there with a knife in her hand.

He isn't afraid that she'll come after him. Annie's so thin and so _damaged _that he knows he could literally take her with one hand tied behind his back. But he's terrified that she's going to hurt herself, more than she already has. There's blood running down her arm and tears flowing down her face and she stares at him with the eyes of a frightened animal.

"Annie," he calls softly. Every fiber in his being wants to sprint across that room and knock the knife out of her hand and just how badly is she hurt? But he keeps his voice quiet, gentle, trying not to scare her.

Her eyes lock on his, and he realizes that she's shaking. But her fingers are clenched so tightly around the hilt of the knife that her knuckles are white and blood drips down her arm and she looks so… _crazy._ So fucking _insane _that it hurts him to look at her.

"Annie," he repeats, taking a cautious step towards her. Her entire body tenses, her eyes widening with fear. "Annie, it's okay. I'm not… I'm not the bad guy, Annie. I'm not going to hurt you." Another step. "Trust me, Annie. I'm not going to hurt you."

She looks as if she's about to move, but hesitates. In that instant, he lunges across the room, knocks the weapon from her hand. She screams, not in pain or in fear but in complete horror, and he knows that she isn't here, not really, not all the way. Some part of Annie never made it back from the Games.

He locks his arms around her and she fights and kicks and screams and screams and screams and her blood coats his hand, soaks into his shirt, and he feels like he's going to throw up. "Annie, Annie," he whispers, over and over, but he knows that she doesn't hear him, that she's a million miles away, still trapped in the arena, still fighting to stay alive.

And he knows there are no survivors of the seventieth Hunger Games.

**III.**

"Finnick?"

Her voice is timid, unsure, and he realizes that she hasn't seen him cry in years, since they were both little kids, but he doesn't really care. He doesn't turn around, either, because maybe if he keeps his back to her she'll just walk away and she won't have to see him like this.

A pause, and then, again, "Finnick?" He can hear the underlying tone of her voice that just screams _Annie_; not the broken girl he is in love with, but the stubborn, persistent girl who he fell in love with. And he knows that she isn't going away anytime soon.

So he can't yell at her to go away, because he can't risk ruining this flare of _AnnieAnnieAnnie_.

She rests his hand on her shoulder, and he makes the mistake of turning to meet her eyes. Sea green, only a few shades darker than his own, filled with concern. He looks away quickly, but Annie has always been good at reading people, and the Games haven't changed that.

He wants to tell her that he's fine, but he can't get the words out. He can't lie to Annie.

And he knows that he couldn't love her any more if her mind hadn't snapped in the Games, if she had come back perfectly whole, perfectly sane.

She doesn't ask him what's wrong. She doesn't try to guess the reasons why he's crying. She wraps her arms around him and leans her head against his shoulder and just stays there with him, not saying a word. He closes his eyes and presses his face into her hair and tries to concentrate on matching her steady breathing.

**IV.**

She knows.

She knows what he does. In the Capitol. He expects her to be angry, to be hurt and betrayed, to yell and scream at him. He expects her to hate him, because he hates himself. He expects her to want nothing to do with him for the rest of her life.

He doesn't expect her to understand.

She rests her hand over his and gives him a soft, almost shy smile, and she says, "I _know _you, Finnick." Her voice is quiet, almost childlike. There are no hints that she's going to fly into one of her fits again. "I know that you wouldn't. Not if you had a choice."

**V.**

"I have to go soon, Annie."

She glances up at him, knees up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. "Why?"

It's an innocent enough question, but he's reluctant to give the answer. Any mention of the Games could send Annie over the edge again, and they've had such a good day. He doesn't want to ruin it. "You know," he says instead, hoping that he can get away with being vague.

Luck is not on his side today. "No," she says. "Why?"

He gives in- without much of a fight, really. "The Games, Annie. I have to mentor again."

She stares at him, like she can't comprehend the words, and then she just starts shaking, her eyes seeming to almost mist over. She closes her eyes tightly, gritting her teeth together, as if she's trying to physically keep the memories away. He's afraid to touch her; sometimes she reacts to the slightest contact as if he's tried to stab her.

"Annie," he says, his voice soothing. "Annie, it's okay."

"You'll come back?" she whispered. "Promise you'll come back."

He frowns. "I'm not going to be _in _the Games. I'm just mentoring. It'll only take a couple of weeks at most."

His words seem to fall on deaf ears. "Promise me," she insists, tears beginning to trickle down her face. He wipes them away, smiling reassuringly.

"I promise."

**VI.**

The seventy-third Hunger Games aren't the worst he's seen, but there's a hell of a lot of blood and horrible deaths and he spends half of the time either covering Annie's eyes or holding her while she sobs, memories of her own Games rising to the surface. He doesn't even pay attention to who wins the Games; all he knows is that it wasn't one of the District Four tributes.

He kisses her and rubs her back and tries to block out the sound of the screams.

**VII.**

She's kneeling down, drawing in the sand with her finger. She isn't a very good artist, but he doesn't say anything about it. He sits down beside her and watches her draw, little patterns and designs and what he thinks are supposed to be people, but he isn't really sure.

He really, really hopes that she isn't trying to draw the Games.

As she draws, humming to herself, he stares out over the water. Annie is the best swimmer he's ever known, but she hasn't so much as set foot in the ocean since she returned from her Games.

The tide's coming in, waves mounting and crashing and stretching up towards them. He watches and remembers how he felt when Annie was in the Games, when she was hiding and scared and hurt and then the dam broke and she won because she didn't drown.

Annie Cresta won the Hunger Games by accident. She wasn't supposed to. But, however broken she is, he's so fucking glad that she did.

She taps his shoulder, and he turns to see her drawing. He still doesn't know what it _is_, but he smiles and nods and says, "It looks beautiful, Annie" and kisses her. He wraps one arm around her shoulders; they fit together perfectly, and they always have. Some things never change. "The water, though…" By the looks of it, her creation will be destroyed within the hour.

She sighs, like she's already realized this. "Well… nothing lasts forever."

**VIII.**

All too soon, the Games roll around again. The seventy-fourth Hunger Games capture his attention the second that girl, Katniss Something, volunteers for her little sister. It's obvious in the desperation in Katniss's voice just how much she loves that little kid.

It makes him think of Annie. If it was at all possible, he would have volunteered for her.

He's watching the tributes parade in the Capitol and he notices Katniss again. She's _on fire_. Her stylist must be either a genius or insane, he thinks, watching them. Katniss and what's-his-name, starts with a _P_, are waving and smiling and blowing kisses at the crowd, and they seem almost… happy. Cheerful in the face of what is almost certain death.

He touches Annie's shoulder, draws her attention, points at the screen. "Look, Annie."

She leans forward, squinting, as if she's trying to get a better look at them, and frowns in confusion, like she can't quite understand why someone would set two perfectly good tributes on fire. Then she smiles. "It's pretty," she says brightly. "They're pretty."

**IX.**

He wakes up to the sound of her screaming.

Nightmares are a regular part of their lives now, but it still nearly breaks his heart to hear her like this, to _see _her like this. As a reflex, he wraps his arms around her, holding her against him, whispering "It's all right, it's okay, it's just a dream" in her ear. She screams again, her eyes tightly closed, even though he knows she's awake, and half chokes on the sobs that burst from her chest.

She has scars, not only from the Games, but from her own self-inflicted wounds. During these nightmares, she's clawed at her skin until she bled, and she still has the marks from when she sliced into her arm. And her scars are not just physical. She screams and screams until there's no breath in her lungs and her fingernails dig into his forearm and her tears drip onto his skin.

"Annie, it's okay. It's okay." But his voice is wavering, and he knows he doesn't sound very convincing. Not that anything he says will help Annie now. All he can do is stay here and hold her and grab her wrists tightly to keep her from hurting herself _again_ and pray to the god he doesn't believe in that she'll be okay.

In the morning, when he sees the bruises on her wrists, he nearly throws up. He didn't think that it was possible to hate himself this much.

**X.**

"They won, Annie."

"Who?"

"Katniss and Peeta. The… the District Twelve tributes."

"Who?"

"They were on fire, Annie. Remember?"

"No."

**XI.**

She tangles her fingers in his hair and presses herself closer to him and her lips are crushing against his and he's on fire, he's burning, and he forgets about Annie's state of mind and the Games and what he'll have to do when he goes back to the Capitol and President Snow's threats and everything except for _Annie, Annie, Annie_, like a pulse, like a heartbeat, _Annie, Annie, Annie._

They collapse back onto the bed and he can't get her clothes off fast enough and her hands leave trails of flames on his skin. He kisses her and kisses her and all he can feel is _Annie, Annie, Annie_, his Annie, and this isn't the first time they've done this, not even close, but he's never wanted her more than he does now.

But behind it all, lurking in the shadow of a doubt, is the feeling that, for reasons unknown, they're somehow saying goodbye.

Two weeks later, he leaves for the Quarter Quell.

**XII.**

The Quarter Quell reaping is quite possibly the worst day of his life. Well, no, not the _worst_, but it's pretty far up there. Because he knows, he _knows_, that this thing is fucking _rigged _and it always has been. They're sending Katniss and Peeta back to the Games and they want another pair of _star-crossed lovers _to add to the fun.

It's no surprise that Annie's name is called.

He's heading for the platform before his name passes the escort's lips, and he grabs Annie's hand as she sobs hysterically and his other hand clenches into a fist, so tightly his fingernails draw blood from his palm. There's no describing what he's feeling, this anger and hate and fear- fear for Annie, fear for what they'll do to her in this sadistic Quarter Quell.

And then Mags, his mentor, Mags, his friend, steps forward the instant they ask for volunteers. She's ancient and she must know that she doesn't have a chance in the world at winning, but she volunteers anyways, to save Annie.

He's never felt more grateful to anyone in his entire life.

**XIII.**

He's back in the Capitol. God, he hates this place.

It's like flicking on a switch, really, and he's flirty and seductive and everything they expect him to be. He meets Katniss, but all she sees is the Capitol's version of Finnick Odair, offering her a sugar cube. Really, he's just poking fun at her- this innocent girl who wouldn't look at her significant other naked even though he was nearly dead- but her innocence reminds him of Annie and he gets the hell out of there.

And then Haymitch corners him and explains to him about the rebellion. Yeah, whatever, old news. He already knows about the uprisings in the districts; it's not like they'll change anything. But Haymitch calling it a _rebellion _surprises him. Has it really come to this already?

Haymitch explains the plan. Team up with Katniss. Keep Peeta alive. Try to keep Katniss alive, too, but she doesn't really need any help. And then District Thirteen. Since the District Twelve victor is one of the only people who understands Finnick's hatred for the Capitol, he keeps silent and lets him finish. He makes a few threats about cutting off some very important body parts if Finnick tells anyone.

And then he says, "If all goes well, you'll see Annie again soon."

So of course Finnick agrees.

**XIV.**

Katniss is right. The arena seems to be made for him.

Lots of water, three tridents in the Cornucopia. Luckily for him, she doesn't impale him with an arrow once he shows her Haymitch's seal of approval, and though their alliance is uneasy, well, it's still an alliance. They disappear with Mags and Peeta into the woods.

And then the fog. The burning mist.

_Save Peeta._ That's what Haymitch said, what Haymitch ordered. He must save Peeta if they're to overthrow the Capitol. He must save Peeta if he's to see Annie again.

But he can't save both of them. And Mags understands.

She's his mentor, and he wasn't lying to Katniss when he said that she's one of the few people who genuinely likes him. But his first thought, after she kisses him and walks off to die, is that he's so fucking glad that it's her and not Annie.

He's a horrible person, a monster in his own right, but aren't they all? Aren't all the victors, all of the _true _victors, a little cold inside? In that moment, he's glad that it's Mags and not Annie because he couldn't watch Annie die.

And Peeta better be damned glad it's Mags, too, because if it was Annie, Finnick would have saved her without a second thought. He would have saved her and left Peeta to die.

**XV.**

The jabberjays. Listening to Annie scream.

It's the worst torture he can imagine, listening to the girl he loves in so much pain and not being able to do a damned thing about it.

**XVI.**

In the District Thirteen hovercraft. _Annie. Annie. Annie._

The Capitol gets to her first. Of course they do. The Capitol gets everything first. They take Annie and they're going to hurt her, they're going to torture her, or maybe they won't. Annie knows nothing of the rebellion; they'll most likely just use her as bait, to draw him in. As always, President Snow has the final ace in his hand.

**XVII.**

He's tying knot after knot in the rope, untangling, tying again, trying to keep his mind anywhere as long as he's not thinking about what they could be doing to Annie. But it doesn't work. Images parade behind his eyes; Annie at age seven, Annie at her first reaping, Annie saying good-bye to him before he's sent off to the Games, Annie at fourteen when he kisses her for the first time, Annie hiding in the Games, Annie returning home, Annie, Annie, Annie.

He wishes, not for the first time, that the rope is long enough to make a noose.

Annie holding a knife to her arm.

Annie drawing at the beach.

Katniss is going through the same thing, worrying and wondering about Peeta, similarly trapped in the Capitol. He lets her borrow his rope because he knows how hard it is. She says that she doesn't love Peeta, but any idiot can see that she does.

The screams of the jabberjays in the arena, those weren't real, but this… this is. They'll hurt her for real this time.

**XVIII.**

"Finnick!"

**XIX.**

He's marrying Annie. Capitol be damned, Finnick Odair is marrying Annie Cresta. She's still not quite sane (she never will be) but she's safe, she's _here_, and he loves her more than everything else in the world combined. He loves her and he's marrying her.

Holding his _wife _in his arms, he can pretend that there's nothing wrong with the world. And he can't imagine a heaven more perfect than this.

**XX.**

In this fairytale, there is no _once upon a time._ There is no _happily ever after._

The prince isn't supposed to die.

He isn't supposed to leave his princess to fight the dragons alone.

And now all she can do is close her eyes and pretend that everything is okay.


End file.
